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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635786">Messing With The Dead Gets You Nowhere</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tachi_Sakon/pseuds/Tachi_Sakon'>Tachi_Sakon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>“Osamu is in love with Ghost Suna AU” [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drinking, Exorcist Akaashi Keiji, Exorcists, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Suna Rintarou, Ghost x Human, Historical Elements, Human Miya Osamu, Hurt/Comfort, I call this the “Osamu falls in love with Ghost Suna AU”, M/M, Other, Smoking, ghost au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:23:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tachi_Sakon/pseuds/Tachi_Sakon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Onigiri restaurant owner Miya Osamu, who just wants to live his life in peace for once in 23 years is haunted by a cute ghost, Suna Rintarou  </p><p>(<em>)He totally wasn’t falling in love with Suna— nope not him, no sir(<em>)</em></em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuto Koutarou &amp; Kuroo Tetsurou, Brief Meian Shuugo/Miya Osamu, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Hirugami Sachirou/Hoshiumi Kourai, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, past Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>“Osamu is in love with Ghost Suna AU” [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Late; Shut Down!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">In which Onigiri restraunt owner Miya Osamu, who just wants to live his life in peace for once in 23 years is haunted by a “slightly” hot ghost, Suna Rintarou </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <strike> <strong> <em> <span class="s2">He totally wasn’t falling in love with Suna— nope not him, no sir</span> </em> </strong> </strike>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Miya Osamu never asked for this. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He never asked to be bothered, to be pestered, to be annoyed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And for sure, Miya Osamu never ever asked to be haunted.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">There was nothing to be done about it now, though. He’s been haunted for a little over three months now since he visited the cemetery near his childhood home to place flowers at his parent’s graves.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But maybe— just maybe, Osamu kept assuring himself, he might be able to get used to it. Being haunted by such a cute ghost couldn’t be that bad; besides, anyone or anyone’s company besides Atsumu’s was welcome. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Except right now wasn’t one of those times, he thinks. Not when he was just barely making it to work, dashing wildly down the streets as he struggled to tug his coat on, panting and gasping for air. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Gotta make it ‘n time!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Give it up, you won’t make it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Ah, there it was. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I would ‘ave if someone ‘adn’t forgotten to wake me up!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s not my job to baby a grown man.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“If yet gonna ‘aunt me, migh’ as well be useful!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His newest companion and menace: </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m not haunting you,” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> <br/>Suna Rintarou,</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yes ye are, ghostie!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“My name isn’t ghostie. I have a name.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu rolled his eyes and clutched at his jacket that was slipping off his shoulders. “I’m late for work!” He wailed. “I don’ ‘ave time for that!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The ghost scoffed. “Yet you have time to get drunk and eat Onigiri at two in the morning,” he heaved a sigh and inched his temples. “Before work.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Shut yer trap! I don’ need a lil’ ghostie like yerself to scold me!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Osamu really didn’t need this. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah,” the ghost giggled from behind him. “You need a whole herd to keep you on track.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu heaved a sigh. There was no way he was going to make it work on time. He slowed his pace until he reached an easy stride, walking and taking a moment to catch his breath. He glanced at the ghost, who had floated over to settle at his side; clinging to his shoulder, out of the corner of his eye. A smirk worked his way onto his face. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What’re ya doin’?” He asked the ghost who was taking his arms and nudging himself into Osamu’s hold with a sigh. “Actin’ all kitten like all o’ a sudden,” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“The winds’ blowing too hard, and it makes it hard to keep up.” The ghost murmured, nuzzling into Osamu’s chest, pale hands clutching at his vest. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu chortled, “The’ I s’ppose it’s fine.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">  </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The ghost sighed and rolled his eyes. “‘S not like you have a choice.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">This earned him a laugh from the tall man. “An’ who’s fault do ya think tha’ is?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They continued their journey to Osamu’s restraunt in a comfortable silence. The ghost had unraveled himself from Osamu and returned to floating beside him, clutching at his shoulder as the wind died down. Griping his jacket to keep it on him so that the ghost wouldn’t accidentally fall, the ashen haired manager flashed a grin at the ghost.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“So, are ya goin’ to f’llow me everywhere, little ghostie?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Mhm.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu quirked an eyebrow. “An’ for how long, exactly?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The ghost shrugged. “Until I feel like I need to stop.” He replied softly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu chuckled and reached out to ruffle the ghost’s soft dark hair. “Yer a persistent little ghostie, ain’t ya?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t call me that.” The ghost frowned slapping his hand away with his left hand. “It’s sounds disgusting. And don’t touch me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“How can I even touch ya?” Osamu asked eagerly, eyes shining. “Am I special ‘Rin?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna snickered. “Very.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu pursed his lips, “Hey, don’ be like tha’!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Then <em>you</em> don’t be like <em>that</em>.” Suna retorted. “You can’t even call me by my name.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“The’ leave me alone.” Osamu nearly shouted. “Don’ follow me!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The ghost glared at the ashen haired man, unimpressed. “I’m a <em>ghost</em>,” he sighed, “I <em>haunt</em> people for a living.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu smirked. “But ye aren’ livin’.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna resisted the urge to strangle the man and settled on gripping his robes. “Ah, is that so?” He ground out. “I didn’t know.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey, ghostie?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Again, don’t call me that.” Suna hissed. “And what do you want?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Can ye eat on’giri?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna couldn’t resist. With all the strength he could muster, he slammed his forehead into Osamu’s shoulder and groaned. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu let out a squeal so high that Suna wondered how his vocal cords didn’t snap. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Wha’ was tha’ for, ‘Rin?!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna sighed. “Finally you used my name.” He tilted his head slightly. “Well, partly anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Forget tha’! Why’d ya hit me?!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“I didn’t </span> <em> <span class="s3">hit</span> </em> <span class="s2"> you. I merely face palmed using your shoulder.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Abuse</em>! I’m being abused by a ghostie!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Sad, ain’t it?” Suna hummed with a smirk. Raising his face from Osamu’s shoulder, the ghost locked gazes with the ashen haired man, eyes narrowed as Osamu glared at him. “And besides, I’m not the one asking a </span> <span class="s3">ghost</span> <span class="s2"> if they could </span> <span class="s3">eat</span> <span class="s2"> Onigiri.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“‘T was a ‘armless question, Rin!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It was a stupid question.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu grumped and crossed his arms over his chest, making Suna sway nervously and grip his arms for support to keep himself upright. “Yer just an asshole, Rin.” He whispered to the ghost as they neared Osamu’s restaurant. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna buried his face into Osamu’s arm, hugging it tight to him, white robes swishing and slapping against Osamu’s torso. “At least I’m not stupid like some.” He muttered, voice muffled by the sleeve’s fabric. “I’d rather be as asshole than he stupid.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Woah, the lil’ ghostie has some bark,” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Shut up and get to work.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I wouldn’ ‘ave been late if it weren’ for someone.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t blame your scatterbrained personality on me, Miya.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna regretted why he ever had to haunt the man. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu regretted ever saying that being haunted by Suna wouldn’t be that bad. Because it wasn’t just bad, it was awful. Not only was he late for work, but now he was falling for the ghost. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Talk about rotten luck. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Heaving a sigh, Osamu reached out and pushed the doors to his restaurant open, expecting to hear yells of “Miya, finally!” and “Table nine refused to talk to any of us! They only want the manager!” But instead he was met with silence and an empty hall. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna peeked out from where he had his face nestled in Osamu’s arm. “What’s up?” He mumbled. “Osamu?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu ignored him and continued to stare wide eyed at the hall around him. Not a soul in sight, not a sound to be heard— it was as if the place were deserted. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Where the hell is everyone?!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oy, Osamu.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu turned to Suna. “What?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The ghost pointed at the wall adjacent to them. “Over there,” he said.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu followed the ghost’s finger and saw a letter stuck with a pin and hanging. He rushed over to the wall and ripped the paper from the pin. “<em>What the hell</em>?!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna peeked over at him. “What does it say?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I haven’ read it yet!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Then read it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu sighed and looked back down at the letter, squinting as he tried his best to make out the messy scrawling. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s3">Dear Miya Osamu, </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s3">We are terribly sorry to inform you of this, but due to certain circumstances your shop must be torn down. We have already dismissed your staff and have payed them. We will be here tomorrow to discuss the arrangements and pay your for the troubles. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s3">Sincerely Akaashi Keiji and Bokuto Koutarou</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">All words died on Osamu’s tongue as he stared in shock at the paper in his hands. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Osamu?” Suna asked again. He floated over and stopped in front of Osamu, glancing down at the letter. Eyes scanning the words, his mouth fell open in shock. “What the—?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“How fuckin’ dare they?!” Osamu roared crumpling up the letter and tossing it behind him. “Who gave ‘em the liberty to dismiss my staff and close my place?!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna patted the man’s back and let him yell before floating over to the discarded paper. Picking it off the ground, the ghost gently uncrumpled it and read it for himself. “Ah, so that what he’s so mad about,” he muttered to himself. “Oh?” His eyes widened. “There’s a PS..” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna continued to read. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s3">PS. This is for the good of the community. The graveyard under your shop must be removed before things get worse than they are. Here is my number, 1(415)-684-33256. You can reach me and I will explain. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna frowned. That number looked familiar somehow. Where had he seen it before? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That’s when it clicked. This man, this Akaashi Keiji, was an exorcist. He was going to ruin the restaurant because of the recent complaints about paranormal activity. Suna shivered. An exorcist wasn’t exactly great luck for him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oi Rin, wha’s the matter with ya? Ya look like ye just’ seen a ghost.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna rolled his eyes at Osamu who was now crouching beside him. “Very funny.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu grinned at him, “Why thanks.” His expression became serious again as his eyes continued to bore into Suna. “So wha’s wron’ with ya?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna handed him the paper again. “Read it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I ‘ave, an’ I don’ wanna do it again.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Osamu, read the PS.” Suna whispered. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu gently took the letter from his and looked it over again. “PS,” he muttered biting on his lips as he searched, “PS.. ah ‘ere! Let’s see, let’s see.” He let Suna lean on him as he read. His face quickly clouded over darkl as he mouthed the words. “The good of the c’mmunity, huh?!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna nodded. Osamu raised his eyebrows at him. “What does that mean?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna heaved a sigh and pointed at the number on the paper. “Why don’t you call and find out?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Don’ ye know?” Osamu asked softly. “Ye looked a bit ‘fraid.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna shook his head. “I don’t know, it would be better if you called them.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu shrugged, “Okay. I’ll call them when we get home.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> <br/> <br/>Osamu frowned at Suna as if trying to see whatever was wrong with him, pursing his lips as if that would make Suna tell him whatever was bothering him. <br/> <br/><br/></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Rin, do ye really not know?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The ghost nodded. “Yeah.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He was such a liar. But hopefully Osamu would never find out. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Do ye wanna go home?” Osamu asked him softly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna nodded again. “I do.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu smiled at him and stood up before bending over and taking Suna in his arms. “Alrigh’.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The ghost sighed and wrapped his arms around Osamu’s neck, letting the ashen haired man hold him close to his chest as he slowly stood up and turned around on his heels before walking out of the shop and not looking back, mouths filled with a bitter, unpleasant taste.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Thanks,” Suna whispered, his arms locked around the back Osamu’s neck and head leaned against his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Don’ mention it, Rin.” Osamu hummed as they walked down the street. “I think tha’ we both ‘ave earned somethin’ nice, don’ ya?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He was still smiling at him, Suna observed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> <br/>“I guess.”  <br/><br/> <br/>Osamu tucked Suna in closer. “When we get ‘ome, I’ll make us some hot tea an’ cookies.” <br/> <br/> <br/>Suna sighed. “Osamu,” </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">“Yeah?” <br/><br/></p><p class="p2">“I can’t eat.” <br/><br/></p><p class="p2">“Well the’ ye can watch me eat, and then we can cuddle!” <br/> <br/> <br/>Suna forced a laugh. “Cuddle? At this time of day?” He chided lightly. “What kind of child are you?” <br/><br/></p><p class="p2">Osamu made an offended noise. “‘Scuse ya! I’m wha’ ye call a ‘sponsible adult!” <br/><br/></p><p class="p2"> <br/>“Uh-huh, and I’m alive and well.” <br/>  <br/><br/> <br/>“Rin, rude!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">But Osamu was smiling.   <br/><br/></p><p class="p2">So Suna decided to smile back. “Yeah, I know.”</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3"> <br/>Osamu chortled and hugged the ghost to his chest, nuzzling his hair. “Ye know,” he hummed, “I’m glad to be ‘aunted by ya, Rin.”<br/></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3"> <br/>“Is that so?”<br/></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3"> <br/>“Yeah.”<br/></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3"> <br/>That’s what Osamu was saying now—  </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">But would he be saying that when his restaurant would be torn down before his eyes?  <br/></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">“Hey, Osamu.” <br/></span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s3"> <br/>“Yes, my lil’ ghostie?”<br/> <br/><br/></span> <span class="s3">Suna wondered how much longer the Miya twin would be smiling at him if he found out that the shop was closing because an exorcist was targeting him.</span></p><p class="p2"> <br/>“Will you keep smiling for me?”</p><p class="p2"> <br/>Osamu raised an eyebrow at Suna as they stopped for a red light. “What kinda ‘uestion is tha’?” He asked.  </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Suna refused to meet his gaze. “Well?”</p><p class="p2"> <br/>When he looked up, Osamu was still smiling.</p><p class="p2"> <br/>“<em>O’course I will.”</em> <br/><br/></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Of Tough Love And Hopeless Feelings (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">They had reached Osamu’s home and Osamu had made himself tea and biscuits like he’d said he would before cuddling Suna. Currently, the two were settled comfortably on the small couch in the ashen haired man’s living room and exchanging hushed whispers and gentle hugs.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That was before something, or rather someone, decided to interrupt them with a start. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3"><em>Rrriiinng, rrrriiiinng, rriinngg!</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">
    
  </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna let out a small groan and gentjy prodded at Osamu who was currently flopped down like a lifeless fish. “Osamu,” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3"><em>Riiinngg</em>! </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Getting no reaction from the man, he nudged him again. “Osamu, oi.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The ashen haired man shook his head against the couch without looking up. “Hm?” He mumbled, voice muffling against the cushions.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“The phone’s ringin’.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’ll get it later,” Osamu sighed as he rolled over on the couch, face cushioned between the pillows and Suna’s side. “Let it ring.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s annoying.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’ll be even more annoyin’ to pick it up, Rin.” The ashen haired man groaned. He didn’t want to get up. He was comfortable laying on the couch, cuddling against the pillowing and the ghost, who was surprisingly soft. “I’m too comfy o’er ‘ere.”  <br/>
</span>
  <span class="s2">He chuckled as the ghost let out a small sigh laced with irritation. Shifting on the couch, Osamu raised his arms and wrapped them around Suna’s waist, hugging the ghost tightly and nuzzling his nose into his sides. “Yer soft for a ghostie,” he mumbled, “i didn’ know tha’ ghosts could be this soft.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna shrugged. “What did you expect me to be? Hard like a stone or somethin’?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Nah,” Osamu replied, voice muffled against fabric, “I jus’ expected ye to be more transparen’ like; ghos’ like, ya know?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna yawned. “Guess I’m different from the usual ghost stories, then.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah, yer my special lil’ ghostie, Rin.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna hummed apprehensively. “Say Osamu,” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu nodded in acknowledgement, craning his neck to glance up at Suna. “Yeah?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He didn’t usually play this card, but the phone ringing was beginning of give Suna a headache. “You love me, right.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“That’s righ’.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“So pick up that damn phone before my ‘ead explodes.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu groaned into Suna’s waist, his hold on the ghost tightening. “Why don’ ya answer it?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“How would you feel of wind answered your phone?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Relieved.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna laughed lightly and gave the human a shove. “Just let go of me and go answer that thing.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu sighed in defeat and slowly unwrapped himself from Suna, making sure to take care to gently drag his fingertips along the ghost as if admiring his curves before sitting up and giving an exaggerated yawn complete with a stretch. Patting Suna on the head, the ashen haired man stood from his comfortable place on the couch near the ghost and made his way to the phone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna watched him with a small grin gracing his features. Osamu turned around as he was picking up the phone and frowned at Suna before grimacing and mouthing, </span>
  <span class="s3">“Nex’ time yer the one pickin’ up the phone!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna waved a hand at Osamu. “‘Kay, ‘kay, just answer it already.” He sighed and grabbed his head in his hands. “All that ringin’s givin’ me a headache.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu rolled his eyes and turned away from Suna, speaking into the receiver. The ghost quirked an eyebrow and leaned over the arm of the couch, tilting his head as he positioned his elbows atop the cushioned limb and rested his chin on his palm. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hello?” He heard Osamu sigh.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">“<em>Oi, ‘Samu!</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Ah, ‘Tsumu.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">“<em>Don’ ye ‘ah ‘Tsumu’ me! Omi-Kun told me tha’ ye been spendin’ the last two weeks mopin’ and cryin’ since yet shoppe was forced closed!”</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu blinked, eyes widening. “From Sak’sa?” He echoed, surprise light in his tone but Suna still hear it. “Where did ‘ee hear ‘bout tha’?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“</span>
  <em>
    <span class="s3">A lil’ birdie told ‘im,” </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“‘T was Kita, wasn’t it?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">“<em>Tha’s ‘sides the point!</em>” </span>
  <span class="s2">Atsumu yelled through the phone, making Osamu grimace, wrinkling his nose, as he held the phone away from his ears with two fingers. </span>
  <span class="s3">“<em>‘Y didn’ ya tell me tha’ yer shoppe was forced closed, ‘Samu?! An’ tha’ yer upset too! ‘M s’pposed to help ya with these thin’s as yer older bro!”</em></span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">
    
  </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu rolled his eyes. “‘S already ‘appened, ‘Tsumu.” He replied. “What difference does it make?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">“<em>A big one!” </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Tha’s only ‘cause ye make it one.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">“<em>Don’ sass me like tha’ when ‘m tryin’ to be helpful, idiot!</em>” </span>
  <span class="s2">Atsumu scoffed and Osamu could make out the faint sound of rustling from the background. </span>
  <span class="s3">“<em>Any’ow, I’m comin’ over right now, so don’ ya even try to protes’!</em></span>
  <span class="s2">” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu couldn’t bring himself to keep frowning, a smile slowly spreading over his face. “‘Kay.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">“‘<em>M comin’ with Omi!</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Tha’s fine.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">“Alrigh’y then, we’ll be there ‘n ten, ‘old on ‘Samu!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“‘Kay. C’ya then ‘Tsumu.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">“‘<em>Eyup!”</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu sighed in relief as the yelling stopped before placing the phone down gently onto the table. “Finally. ‘Ee’s finished.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna grinned from his spot at the couch. “Tough love?” He asked as Osamu walked back to him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu nodded tiredly and plopped down beside Suna again, cuddling up to the ghost. “Tough love is righ’.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They sat in silence together before Osamu broke it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Say Rin,”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna changed positions on the couch and leaned back against the cushioning. “Mm?” He hummed, glancing up at Osamu.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I don’ want my res’raunt to be closed.” The ashen haired man mumbled as he began to lean against the ghost, reaching out with his arms to initiate a hug.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna sighed and shifted on the couch to let the other twin fall into his arms, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I don’t either.” He whispered truthfully, letting Osamu lay across his legs, his head in Suna’s lap. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu sniffled and let his arms flop over the sides of the couch as the ghost gently ran his fingers through his hair in a calming manner. “I love my lil’ place,” he mumbled, “I love workin’ there.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I know,” Suna mumbled back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I even love my ‘mployees.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna cupped Osamu’s face in his hands and stroked his well sculpted cheeks with the tips of his fingers. “I know,” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu locked gazes with the ghost, his grey boring into dimmed gold. Lips trembling as a stray tear escaped his eye, he gasped, “I don’ wanna lose anythin’ more or anyone again, Rin. I can’t go through tha’ again.”” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna wiped the tear away. “You won’t.” He sighed. “No one’s goin’ away from you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tears began to cascade down Osamu’s cheeks as he continued to stare up at Suna. Raising his arms, he took the ghost’s face in his hands, tracing the delicate features with his palms before cupping his cheeks tenderly and pulling Suna down to him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Osamu?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu continued to pull Suna closer until his lips met the ghost’s in a soft kiss, fitting perfectly with the other. He held Suna to him for a moment before pulling away and sitting himself up, grabbing the ghost into his arms and pulling him against his chest, hugging him with all his might; burying his face into the crook of Suna’s neck. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Osamu,” Suna asked again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu grit his teeth before whispering, “Wha’ if I lose ya too?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna bit his lip. “There’s nothing to lose anymore,” he breathed, “I’m dead after all. I’ve already been lost once.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu only tightened his grip. “<em>Exactly</em>.” The man said softly, voice flooded with emotion that he couldn’t describe. Ones that only Suna made him feel. “I don’ wanna lose ya again.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suna’s long still heart clenched. He wanted to tell Osamu that he wouldn’t lose him, that he wouldn’t be going anywhere, that they would be together. But he couldn’t. After all, all this was happening because of him. Osamu’s suffering was all because of him. It would be better if he were to disappear for Osamu anyhow. He couldn’t bring himself to tell him the opposite, nor could he tell him the truth.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He wanted to so badly, yet he couldn’t. Instead, he managed a soft, </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Losing me won’t make a difference.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Breaking Hearts (Don’t Hold Back)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Angst and broken hearts ;-;</p><p>Lots of crappy metaphors, you’ve been warned</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>wOAH THIS HIT ME LIKE A TRUCK  SPEEDING DOWN THE HIGHWAY WTF WHERE DID ALL THIS SHIT COME FROM??? wHO IS THIS?? WHATS WITHE ALL THE ANGST??? </p><p>Proceed at your own risk? </p><p>Also— I threw in a sickeningly sweet and sad OsaSuna make out session</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Osamu clutched the ghost tightly to his chest and stroked his hair with a hand. “Don’,” He whispered into Suna’s neck, “ye ever say tha’ ever again.”</p><p> </p><p>Suna closed his eyes and let Osamu’s gentle yet firm touch on his head and fingers threading through his hair lull him to sleep. He could feel the ashen haired man trembling and his breath warm against his own chilled skin. Osamu’s lips were so dangerously close to his neck that he could feel them ghosting over his pale skin as he continued to murmur and whisper to him as his left hand stroked his hair and his right held him around his waist. He reciprocated Osamu’s hug and proceeded to bury his own face in the human’s neck, cold nose pressing into his pulsating neck. The sound of the human’s pulse was calming to Suna. It made him feel safe, secure.  <br/> <br/> <br/><em>Just like Osamu’s hold</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu bit his lip. He knew that he was shaking, and that Suna could probably feel him shaking. But he didn’t care. He was scared; scared of losing the one he came to hold close to him, the one he shared almost everything with despite knowing each other for less than a year. The ghost made him feel things that his past flings could never even hope to set aflame. Suna was something that he couldn’t afford to lose. Not financially, but emotionally, physically even. If he were to lose the ghost, his heart was sure to fail him. He couldn’t bear the thought of life without him.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’ ye ever say tha’ kind o’ nonsense ever again, ‘Rin.” He muttered again, his grip around Suna’s waist now tight enough to crush bones. And it would have if Suna had any to crush. He felt the ghost stiffen in his hold. Peeking up from where he had his face buried in the crook of Suna’s neck, Osamu looked up at him, cheeks tears streaked and eyes puffy. “‘M I hurtin’ ya?”</p><p> </p><p>He remembered what Suna said about him being special. He was the only one who could touch the ghost and feel him as though he was still a physical being and vise versa. Suna could only touch him and treat him like he was used to. The only breaches to this however, were the new exorcists that had appeared in neighboring towns. Osamu hoped with all his heart that there were none of them in Osaka, but from Suna’s behavior earlier, he began to get more in touch with reality and let his hopes lower a bit. Might as well be ready for the worst, if it were to come to that. The ashen haired man fought a grimace as his heart clenched painfully at the thoughts coursing through his brain.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Suna being exorcised—</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Suna fading away from him slowly as he reached out, making wild grabs for the ghost and screaming his name.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Suna leaving him out of fear—</em>
</p><p> </p><p>But what scared him even more, were the thoughts of him not being able to see Suna ever again. The thoughts of Suna still being there but he would never be able to see him again. The way he lived previously, without him. Osamu held the ghost as though he would never let go, as though he weren’t willing to let go. Which, in fact, he wasn’t. Osamu hated how helpless he was being, how broken he felt. <br/><br/></p><p>But still, he just couldn’t handle the very thoughts of being thrown back into the pits of loneliness all, left to suffer all on his own all over again</p><p> </p><p>“Osamu,” Suna’s soft voice trembled.</p><p> </p><p>“What,” Osamu’s tearstained words shook.</p><p> </p><p>“Do ya really mean tha’?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mean what, ‘Rin?”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu couldn’t stop the shaking of his voice as he tripped over his tongue. He couldn’t stop the trembling of his words as emotion wracked his body. He just couldn’t. So he wouldn’t try. He figured that it was alright to let himself show emotion for once since he was a teenager in the comfort of his home with someone who shared his pain, at least in a similar way of not the same.</p><p> </p><p>“Did ya mean what ya said about ye carin’ if I were to disappear?” Osamu heard the ghost rasp. </p><p> </p><p>“Of all the stupid thin’s ye could ask me.” Osamu sighed, lifting his face from Suna’s neck before untangling his fingers from his hair. Straightening up, the ashen haired man slowly unwrapped himself from the ghost’s waist and raised his hands to gently cup his face, thumbing Suna’s pale cheeks as his index fingers traced his face, ring fingers and pinkies tucked just under his jaw. Tilting Suna’s head up, Osamu gently forced their eyes to meet, his dark brown eyes warm and tear filled and shining like darkened mirrors gazing into the ghost’s dull golden orbs that would seem to have long lost their glow, but Osamu still saw it. Suna’s eyes were always glowing to him.</p><p> </p><p>“‘Course I meant what I said, ‘Rin.” Osamu said softly, assuring Suna by continuing to thumb his cheeks as he tried to ignore the tears threatening to slip from his eyes again. “I’d never lie to ye. I love ya too much to be able to hurt ye like tha’.”</p><p> </p><p>Suna’s heart nearly began to beat again. If he were alive, he was sure that his heart would have beat its way out of his chest and all the way to Tokyo by now. He was relieved to hear that Osamu was being seemingly genuine and that he wouldn’t be hurting him, but it wasn’t him being hurt that Suna was worried about, he was worried about hurting Osamu. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure that ya are.” Suna murmured as he reached out, thin robes swaying slowly, and wrapped his arms around the back of Osamu’s neck, subconsciously pulling them closer to each other. “But I ain’t worried ‘bout that.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’re ye worried ‘bout, ‘Rin?”</p><p> </p><p>Suna froze. Osamu blinked at him, tilting his head as he kept a hold on Suna’s face in case he tried to squirm away. The ghost wracked his brain. What would he tell him? What in the world would he tell Osamu? That his restaurant was being torn down because an exorcist was hunting hmm down and that he had to leave him as soon as possible? That it was all his fault that Osamu was suffering? That hurt was all he caused and that haunting him was the worst decision he’s ever made?</p><p>
  
</p><p>The ghost felt hands tug at his face. He glanced up to see Osamu staring at him, concern gleaming in those brown eyes that looked as though they could swallow Suna whole.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“What,” the ghost managed in the most softest tone that he could muster, hoping to cover the shaking and hurt in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu leaned in and swiftly pressed a series of kisses to Suna’s pale cheeks before drawing away and returning to his earlier position. “Suna, look at me.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I am lookin’.”</p><p> </p><p>“No ye aren’.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu leaned even closer so that their noses were touching in an Eskimo Kiss. “No ye aren’.” He murmured, voice laced with emotion and thick with choking tears, “don’ lie to me. I ain’t as stupid as I seem, y’know.”</p><p> </p><p>Suna bit the insides of his cheeks. “I never said that ya were stupid.” He mumbled. “That never even crossed my mind. Yer jus’ jumpin’ to conclusions again.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Rintarou</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>That made him lose it. The way the ashen haired man said his name— the way he sounded angry, yet not with him. The way he sounded hurt, the hurt stabbing Suna in the heart, the sadness thick with tears pent up over years and tears made him lose it. Suna stiffened before lurching forwards and falling face first into Osamu’s chest, muffling cries against his sweater, clutching the fabric in his fists and shaking his head.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu sighed shakily and released the ghost’s face, wrapping his arms back around his waist and ticking Suna’s head under his chin. Maybe he should take things slower with the ghost. His heart constricted with every broken wail that sounded from Suna. The trembling hands clutching so desperately at his sweater, the tears that should be soaking the fabric, the broken wails and muffled cries that refused to grow louder, that were forced to reduce themselves to harsh gasping. All these things and more were slowly breaking Osamu’s heart.</p><p> </p><p>“‘Rin, if ye don’ stop that I won’t be able to hold back.” Osamu breathed as fresh tears dropped from his eyes and onto Suna’s hair, soaking into the dark tresses.</p><p> </p><p>“Then,” Suna’s broken voice whispered from his chest, “don’ hold back.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Don’t hold back—</em>
</p><p> </p><p>That was all Osamu needed to hear, all the reassurance he needed for his barricade to crash and burn, falling with the force of millions of buildings around him.</p><p> </p><p>He clutched the ghost tightly and let the tears fall, reburying his face in the junction between Suna’s neck and shoulder, his warm tears wetting the pale skin. The ashen haired man jolted ever so slightly as he felt one of Suna’s hands uncurl from his sweater and tangle itself in his hair, gripping the dyed strands; his other hand curling even tighter around the back of his neck as he slowly lifted his face and with a shaky sigh, with one swift moment, he pulled Osamu down and crashed their lips together.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Suna’s words resonated through his head and rang throughout his ears.</span></p><p> </p><p>“<em>Don’t hold back</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu worked his mouth against Suna’s closed lips, licking the ghost’s soft lips and nibbling on his lower lip. The kiss was salty from the tears that Osamu cried for the both of them and airy from Suna’s transparent pain and qualities.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Don’t hold back</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Suna slowly began to match Osamu’s pace and moved his lips against his, soft smacks sounding between them as they pecked each other’s lips gently, hoping to erase all the hurt between them. He sighed softly as Osamu began to kiss him deeper, prodding at his lips with his tongue, asking for entrance. Complying, Suna slowly worked his mouth open, allowing Osamu’s tongue to slip inside and tangle with his, their tongue twisting and tangling in an elaborate series like the gentlest of tangos.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu let Suna lean into him as he pulled him closer, each hugging the other as though their lives depended on it, lips locked. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Please, don’t hold back</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu tilted his head and held Suna fast by his hips, still keeping interactions gentle. By being gentle, Osamu wasn’t holding back. He was simply keeping things at his own pace. And Suna knew— he was familiar with Osamu’s gentleness, for it was unlike anyone else’s and any other’s. It was his gentleness that kept Suna around.</p><p> </p><p>It was this gentleness that kept their hearts from shattering on the spot.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Don’t hold back,”</em></p><p> </p><p><em>“Fear not, I won’t.”</em> </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Attack me.”</em></p><p> </p><p><em>“Defend me</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I will.”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Don’t shatter me again,”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“What’s there to shatter, if you’re already shattered?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Osamu sighed and kissed Suna hard. He kissed him hard and passionately, all the bubbling tears and fears pouring out of him. Years of emotional wreckage piled out in a single kiss.</p><p> </p><p>And Suna let him.</p><p> </p><p><em>Suna let Osamu’s typhoon sweep him away—</em> </p><p> </p><p>He let himself drown in emotion, sink under the weight of shattered pieces and broken dreams.</p><p> </p><p><em>Osamu sank with him</em>.</p><p> </p><p>No matter how hard he tried to keep one from sinking into the sea of bottomless darkness,</p><p> </p><p>Both of them ended up downing together.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t hold back,” Suna gasped against Osamu’s sloppy kisses.</p><p> </p><p>“Fear not,” Osamu murmured as he untangled his tongue from Suna’s and pecked his lips with soft smooches, “I’ll never hold back with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I should hope not.” </p><p> </p><p>All the pieces that they had shattered were slowly and painfully being put back into place. Slowly and surely being mended, being replaced; sewn back and stitched up to function again.</p><p> </p><p>Even though they were drowning in the endless abyss of pain and suffering known as life and death, they managed to breathe. Osamu managed to thrive and Suna managed to make sure of that. Neither was leaving the other, and no hearts would be shattering like they once were. Or so Suna and Osamu liked to hope.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Don’t hold back,”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Never.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Drag me with you. If you’re going to drown, then I will too.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Don’t shatter me,”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“What’s there to shatter when all has been shattered already?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Mend my heart,”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <span class="Apple-converted-space">“Is it even possible to mend what’s beyond repair?” <br/> <br/><br/></span> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <span class="Apple-converted-space">“It doesn’t hurt to try.”</span> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Let us mend the pieces together.”</em>
</p><p> <br/> <br/>“<em>Without holding back,” </em></p><p> </p><p>Yet Suna still found himself wondering:— not that he doubted Osamu, quite the opposite actually. It’s just that he couldn’t keep the flood from breaching the dam.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is together possible?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Of Reasons And Cheering Brothers (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some BokuAka introduction and SakuAtsu fluff! </p><p>Also, Happy Thanksgiving! ❤️ Hope everyone has a lovely evening with their families :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>"Keiji, I know that your decisions are usually good and there is planning behind them, but are you sure that tearing down the restaurant is a good idea?" A large, white haired man with black streaking in white gelled strands with wide owl like eyes asked as he leaned over a desk; resting his arm lightly over the painted wood. Immediately rethinking his words, the man quickly waved an arm and shook his head. "Not that I'm doubting you or anything! I just thought..." he trailed off as the man across from him glanced up and smiled slightly, face gentle.</p><p> </p><p>"Don't worry Koutarou." The man— Keiji, hummed quietly from where he sat, scribbling away on some kind of parchment, his glasses perched atop his nose. "I have never thought, even for a second, that you doubted me."</p><p> </p><p>Koutarou beamed at Keiji and engulfed the dark haired man in a comfortable hug, muscular arms wrapped around Keiji's shoulders, pulling him into Koutarou's firmly pillowed chest. "I love you, Keiji!"</p><p> </p><p>Keiji patted Koutarou's arm with his hand gently and nodded with a small chortle. "I love you too, Kou."</p><p> </p><p>The larger man drew away from Keiji after another tender moment of hugging and "I love you's" before reclaiming his spot across from the ravenette at the table. Crossing a leg over the other with ease, Koutarou eased into the chair and rested his  elbow on the arm, placing his chin atop his knuckles and looking at Keiji.</p><p> </p><p>Keiji sighed. How such a childish and hyperactive man could look so effortlessly elegant and serious like this was and would forever remain a mystery to him. Deciding that it would be wiser to get down to business rather than beating around the bush, Keiji leaned forwards and locked gazes with Koutarou, resting his chin atop his knuckles and staring over the tips of his glasses. "Is something bothering you, Kou?"</p><p> </p><p>Koutarou startled as if he hadn't been expecting Keiji to ask him that. "What do you mean?" He asked, voice pinched and panicky.</p><p> </p><p>"Well for one thing," Keiji hummed as he untangled his fingers and moved to  grab a pencil from its place at his desk before twirling it between long and elegant fingers, "you've been so fidgety all day. And that usually doesn't happen unless you're on edge about something. Plus you keep checking on that restaurant that I told you we were going to examine after meeting up with the owner to discuss negotiations."</p><p> </p><p>Koutarou hung his head with a dejected sigh. "Keiji," he muttered as he forced himself to look back up into his husband's eyes. Those cold and dark eyes that swarmed and swam full of mysteries, only softening when they rested on him.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes,"</p><p> </p><p><em>How was he going to say this.</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, you see—"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>How was he going to tell him—</em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"I'm listening."</p><p> </p><p>Koutarou rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Keiji's eyes hadn't faltered; instead, they narrowed at him. He should probably rush himself a bit before he would begin to loose patience.</p><p> </p><p>Keiji sighed and stopped twirling the pencil between his fingers. Gripping it in his fists, he slammed it down onto the table.</p><p> </p><p>Koutarou jumped up, hair standing on end as he gaped at his husband. "K-Keiji?!"</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Bokuto-San,”</em> the ravenette’s tone was as leveled and calm as always— or how it would seem to most people. But Koutarou knew better than to fall for the falsetto. Where his husband was usually calm and collected, he could sense impatience and anger.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Bokuto-San—</em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>That was a name that Koutarou hasn’tbeen called by Keiji since high school.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-yes?” The owl like man squawked, arms trembling and lips twitching as he jumped into a trembling salute before Keiji. “I-I’m sorry!”</p><p> </p><p>The shorter man heaved a sigh and pinched his temples. “Kou,” he repeated, this time, the calm true and anger faded.</p><p> </p><p>Koutarou relaxed and nodded. “Yes,”</p><p> </p><p>“The restaurant,” Keiji began gesturing at the papers scattered all over his desk, “the business with Miya Osamu and his location.. All this is because of one troublesome factor.”</p><p> </p><p>“Which is?”</p><p> </p><p>“As I told you earlier when you probably weren’t listening, an apparition.”</p><p> </p><p>Koutarou sat up, indignant. “I was too listening!” He retorted, waving his hands. “But it’s not like we have to tear up a whole restaurant over one little ghost right? We just have to get it to go somewhere else!” Koutarou tried. His face fell as Keiji shook his head. “Why can’t we just get this Miya Osamu to close his place for a little instead?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kou, this problem is much more than simply getting the apparition to leave.” The ravenette whispered gravely. “It’s to ensure that Miya Osamu won’t change.”</p><p> </p><p>Koutarou tilted his head, eyebrows raised. “Change?” He echoed.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” Keiji nodded. He raised his hand and slowly slipped off his glasses before placing them down on top of his papers with a sigh. “You see, when you get involved with apparitions,” he looked up at his husband with a cold smile. “Nothing good comes out of it.”</p><p> <br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Again, why am I being dragged along?” A dark haired man groaned as he nuzzled into the warmth of his black turtleneck, digging his hands into the pockets of his large overcoat; standing hunched over by a door as he waited for his companion— well, husband, Atsumu.</p><p> </p><p>“Sak’sa, do I really have to tell ya again?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Sakusa grumbled.</p><p> </p><p>The other ignored him and rolled his eyes. “Because yer my ‘usband, and tha’s my brother that we’re goin’ to cheer up.” The dyed blonde replied cheerily. “Also yer his brother in law now, if I may remind ya.”</p><p> </p><p>“I refuse to go.” Sakusa hissed burrowing deeper into his turtleneck with a shiver. “I don’t want to see anyone.”</p><p> </p><p>“This ain’t about what ye wan’ or what ye don’t want, hun.” Atsumu sang as he peeked over at his husband and blew him a kiss only to pout as the other made as of to flick it away. Giving a small laugh, the older—once Miya— twin spun around on his heels in front of the mirror. “What d’ya think?”</p><p> </p><p>“As disgusting as always, Atsumu.” Sakusa replied with the roll of his dark eyes as he brushed a strand of curly hair out of his eyes before shoving his gloved hand back in his pocket. “Do tell me just <em>how</em> you manage to make yourself look that bad at all times.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Mean</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>“As it was intended to be,”</p><p> </p><p>“Yer s’pposed to tell me <em>nice</em> things, Omi-Kun! Not to be such a brute, an’ to yer dear ‘usband no less!”</p><p> </p><p>“Who says that you’re dear to me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up!”</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa chortled softly and shook his head, dark waves bouncing. Even with all their bantering, he knew that Atsumu wasn’t hurt. He was used to it, after all. In all seriousness, however, when it came to it, they both wouldn’t hesitate to defend the other’s honor. They hadn’t gotten married as early as they did for nothing; nor had they been married for so long for nothing, either. Sakusa looked back up from his shoes to Atsumu. “So remind me again, why your brother is so upset.” He muttered to his husband.</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’ ye the one who told me tha’ he was upset in the first place?”</p><p> </p><p>“Did I?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“I forgot.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu snickered and finished buttoning up his coat. “I can see tha’,” he laughed, walking over to Sakusa, coat swaying. “We’re headin’ over to cheer up ‘Samu cause his on’giri place is bein’ shut down on orders from some governmen’ dog’s establishment.. at least, that’s what I think.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, right.” Sakusa sighed. He turned around and reached out for the door handle, gripping it with gloved fingers before yanking it and pulling the door open. “Let’s go then,”</p><p> </p><p>“‘Kay!” Atsumu sang as he latched into Sakusa’s arm.</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa resisted the urge to smile and gently pushed his husband away from his arm. “Hurry up.” He groaned ushering Atsumu out of their flat.</p><p> </p><p>“Geez, all I wanted was to hold yer hand!”</p><p> </p><p>“You were latched on to my <em>arm</em>, Atsumu.” Sakusa said as they walked down the halls, heeled shoes clicking away in perfect sync as they kept side by side. “Not my hand.”</p><p> </p><p>“Doesn’ mean that ya have to push me away like tha’! It hurts my feelin’s.” Atsumu pushed his lips into a pout as they neared the lobby doors, making their way down the last few stairs.</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa shook his head with a small smile finally making its way into his lips. He reached out and pushed to glass doors open as he and his husband finally made their way out of the lobby and past the elegantly adorned doors.</p><p> </p><p>“I know that it doesn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Does too!”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu bit his lip to muffle a laugh as Sakusa frowned at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Does not.”</p><p> </p><p>“Does!”</p><p> </p><p>Smirking beneath the neck of his sweater, Sakusa gently snaked his arm around Atsumu’s waist and pulled the dyed blonde against him, earning a soft gasp, making his smirk widen. Their steps coming to a halt around a corner of the street, Sakusa used the time to lean over, positioning his mouth right by his husband’s ear as he used one hand to pull down his mask; the other still holding Atsumu by the waist.</p><p> </p><p>“O-Omi-Kun?!” Atsumu nearly squealed, face reddening and cheeks flushed pleasantly.</p><p> </p><p>“I know that you aren’t upset,” Sakusa murmured, lips ghosting over Atsumu’s ear. “But if you keep making things such a big deal, then—”</p><p> </p><p>“‘Kay, I get it!” Atsumu huffed as he shoved his hands into Sakusa’s chest, pushing him away as he flushed all the way up to his ears. “Jus’ stop it!”</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa allowed himself to grin down at Atsumu, triumph practically glowing, radiating even, from his face as he pulled away but kept his arm around Atsumu’s waist, resuming their walk.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu frowned up at Sakusa, the dark haired man still pleased to see that his face was red, and embarrassedly flipped him the bird, grumbling, “I really wonder why I married ya sometimes,”</p><p> </p><p>“Now now, there’s no need for that, dearest.” He smirked again as Atsumu’s cheeks began to glow crimson. “Save the comedic act for Osamu.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu slapped Sakusa’s arm. “Shut yer damn trap, ye fuckin’ germaphobic warlock!” He managed through gritted teeth. “Tis no comedic act!”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah that’s right, everything you do is a comedic act, not just this. Excuse me.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu heaved a sigh. “Ya know,” he muttered linking hands with Sakusa and smiling up at him, eyes crinkling fondly. “I really do wonder why I married ya sometimes.”</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa returned Atsumu’s smile with one of his own and squeezed his hand. “Because we’re both crazy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Tha’s one way to put it!”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Hands Of Failure Strangling Him</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bokuto-centric</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Bokuto isn’t what he seems— </p><p>fULL SPEED FOR ANGST TOWN  </p><p>Alright, I know I promised OsaSuna, but this story— while it is mostly revolving around them— isn’t ALL about them. Bokuto and Akaashi play a pretty big role in later chapters so I’m kinda beginning to give you guys a sense of his part</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p3">
  <em>
    <strong>
      <span class="s2">—Bokuto Koutarou— </span>
    </strong>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">What comes to mind when you hear this name? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Comedic relief, </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">A background character— </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Simp. </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">An airhead, </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Idiot— </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Useless, </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s3"><em>Unimportant</em>— </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That’s what came to mind when you heard Bokuto Koutarou. <br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">
    <em>Is it what he actually is, though?</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Is Bokuto Koutarou unimportant— </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Simply there for comedic relief, </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Useless? </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">An airhead, an idiot? </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Is he </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s3">just </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2">a character with no role of his own, no thoughts that might be relevant, no feelings on the matter? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A simp— yes, he might be overbearing when it came to a certain intelligent eyes individual whom he came to admire. No, he didn’t exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s3">love </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s3">him</span>
  <span class="s2">— it was more of a hopeless attraction that he worked into admiration to be able to stay by his side, smiling just the same every day. Even if they were married, nothing between them changed; he was sure that Akaashi didn’t see their relationship the way he did. Akaashi merely saw it as a work convenience, and that kept him happy, so who was Bokuto to complain?  <br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <br/>
Bokuto was still the same old Bokuto he was in high school; Akaashi sprinting by three staircases over him at a time.<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <br/>
And that smile had its own legend to it— just as the world around him had its mysteries, Bokuto Koutarou was his own mystery.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">But, Bokuto Koutarou, no matter how you see it— is not useless. <br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <br/>
He had someone with him. <br/>
</em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <br/>
He has Kuroo Tetsurou— someone who chose to stay by him and saw him for who he was, what was underneath. Someone who became his best friend without a second thought and still stayed with him to this day.<br/>
 <br/>
 <br/>
Others, however, didn’t.</em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span class="s2">“Can’t anything actually important get through that thick skull of yours?!”</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p><p class="p3">
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span class="s2"> <br/>
“Don’t just stare at me like an idiot, do something!” <br/>
  <br/>
<br/>
“He doesn’t amount for anything! Useless!” <br/>
<br/>
</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">He is not unimportant, he is not irrelevant. <br/>
<br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bokuto Koutarou is so much more than what meets the eye, what the name implies. He is someone who stayed by the sides of whoever he chose through thick and thin. He abandoned his own morals, his personal wants and needs, maybe even his feelings for the one he deemed worthy. He did the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the unforgettable, the unforgivable. Yet he remained unfortunate— someone who couldn’t tell his left from his right found his way before he did. Someone who had no way out of anywhere, made his way out before he did. Someone who would never be worthy of love, someone who hid away and made the mistakes that he made and kept making without hesitation, found redemption and acceptance before he did. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">All these people— these unforgivable actions and unfortunate souls— found whatever they were looking for, </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">So why couldn’t he? </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Did he even have something he was looking for? Did he know? Did he care? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>Perhaps</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Maybe once upon a time, Bokuto Koutarou may have had those hopes and dreams— that drive to go forwards. Where it went, he didn’t know. But when it escaped his body like a soul parting from its host, he knew. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It was when everything he did was shoved back in his face and the words “it was all for naught” were stamped across his chest and the hands of failure were suddenly clutching at his neck, strangling him. It was when he opened his eyes one day and saw the light, that he lost all hope. It was when his name was shoved in his face and translated by those who didn’t even know who he was as a person, as </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Useless— </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Unimportant, airheaded idiot.. </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Comedic relief. </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When every wall around him suddenly came to life and voices began to whisper to him: </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">You were never going anywhere, </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">You’ll never get anywhere. </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">How could you think that you’ll ever achieve anything? </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Important? You? Don’t make me laugh. </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Oh wait, I forget. That’s all you’re good for. Some comedic relief. </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bokuto Koutarou has been called, </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Shallow, </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Stupid, </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s3">Ignorant— </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Without even a second thought, never given the time, the second he needed, to prove those biting words wrong. <br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>On second thought, you aren’t as cool as I though you were.” </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">“Weren’t you just drooling over me a second ago?” <br/>
<br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">“That was before you opened your mouth.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">People didn’t have the ability to see into other’s minds. Which was a good thing, but it was also a bad thing. Like a double header snake, it both empowered and de powered. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Stay quiet and let me do the talking like you always do.” </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">“But—” </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">“You never have anything important to say anyway.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Of course. Why should people listen to him? He never had anything important to say, after all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">So, just what did he do with those thoughts? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span class="s2">He kept them inside. </span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Wipe that stupid grin off your face, it creeps me out</em>.” <br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">“Seriously, what’s with him? He’s always smiling!” <br/>
<br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">“Creepy!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">That “stupid grin” of his was something that kept him from crying. That grin that he fought both mentally and physically to keep on his face was his only barrier left, and even so, it was crumbling and crumbling by every passing breath. </span><span class="s2">That grin that he kept on his face, was something that he never had before. It was something that was constantly flooded by tears as he cried and cried, lips trembling with the force of sobs instead of laughs, with the force of sorrow instead of smiled. His grin kept him sane throughout the pain that kept on coming but never going. </span><span class="s2">That grin was something that kept all his sadness at bay, kept him from breaking down in broad daylight, from becoming a tsunami of years and years of pressuring tears and broken sobs and wails. </span>That grin kept him from letting others close, into his head. That grin stood in place no matter how many people turned on their heels and strode away from him. Stood in place no matter how many he lost, for how many years now. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p3">That grin stopped people from looking past it and into his suffering.   <br/>
<br/>
 <br/>
Sometimes, Bokuto even found himself wondering how many years have passed since he adopted such a facade. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p3">—<em>Since the beginning</em>— </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">Why had he adopted that grin?</p><p class="p3"> <br/>
<em>Because he didn’t want any of the focus to leave the stars in the sky and shine on a dwarf planet. <br/>
</em></p><p class="p3"> <br/>
Because he didn’t want to cry over anyone, over anything. He didn’t want to feel, for his chest to ache so ever again.  <br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p3"><em><strong>But more than that—</strong></em>  </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Hey, Bo my bro.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">“Yeah, my brofriend?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>How is it that you can always smile?</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> <br/>
Bokuto stopped. Literally everything in him simply dropped. His chest, his lungs, his stomach— everything plummeted with the force of sorrow. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“Huh?” <br/>
</em>
</p><p class="p2">He didn’t miss the pitying glimmer in his best friend’s eyes. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p2"><em>“It’s just that you’re always smiling,” </em>Kuroo had told him, <em>“how do you do it?” <br/>
</em></p><p class="p3">
  <strong>
    <span class="s3">How was it— that he kept smiling? </span>
  </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Well</em>,” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bokuto’s loss for words only lasted for a brief moment, because, he knew.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <strong>
    <span class="s3">Ah, that’s right. </span>
  </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He had looked Kuroo right in the eyes and breathed, “<em>Because I don’t want to cry over anyone like that ever again.</em>” <br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Maybe he just didn’t want to accept the fact that it was all coming back around to him. </span>
  <span class="s2">Maybe he didn’t want to get punched in the face again by the fist known as feelings. <br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <br/>
Maybe he didn’t want to be strangled by the hands of failure or to be pushed down the long and winding stairway of sorrow again. <br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">But the past always caught up with the present and tangled with the future. </span><br/>
 </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bokuto Koutarou couldn’t escape the inevitable. No one could. It was just one of those things—</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <br/>
<em>—Que sera, sera; whatever will be, will be—  </em> <br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">After all, if he couldn’t in life, how would he after the purgatory and in hell?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Late Night Hazards</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>No thoughts, just bokuaka sharing cigarettes and talking at night</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m sorry for the long wait and for not updating the main story for so long. I won’t ever take this long again, and thank you to all those that have been supporting this series so far. I am truly grateful because I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you guys supporting my makeshift series! There are 12 works in this series now, I can’t believe it! It wasn’t meant to be so big, but here we are. Thank you all so much ❤️ I owe it all to you guys.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It’s quiet in the Akaashi household. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">In Akaashi’s apartment. There are only two people around anyway: Keiji himself and Bokuto. They sit in dark, velvet armchairs parallel to each other, their eyes glued to a flickering screen; the moving pictures reflecting in Keiji’s glasses and swimming in Bokuto’s wine. Keiji has his legs swung over the left armrest, back pressed against the other arm, an arm held up as he slowly inhales smoke. He doesn’t drink, so he smokes. Koutarou— Bokuto, does both. He drinks and smokes as if he’s trying to wish himself away with the mist. The room is dark and nearly silent with only the old television to illuminate Keiji and Bokuto’s slouching figures, the only words are depressing. Keiji doesn’t want to listen anymore, but he forces himself to anyway. It is his job, after all. His eyes shine by television light, pupils dilating despite his lidded eyes as he watches. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2"><em>“The remains of those identified as Kuroo Tetsuro, Meian Shugo and Hirugami Sachiro were stolen from their respective mausoleums last night.”</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">A woman is saying, microphone clutched in her hands over her chest as she stares into Keiji’s eyes, unwavering. It makes him uneasy. He shifts in his chair, swallowing, nearly choking as he does. His mind muddles as the woman goes on, another and then another appearing around her as if they all were trying to stare into Keiji’s soul. He looks away and out of the widow, wondering if Bokuto has noticed. He glances at his partner. </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">He is completely immersed in the program. </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s1">Keiji sighs. </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>Good</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Keiji coughs as the smoke clogs his throat, his eyes trailing the millions of glimmering nothings in the sky as Bokuto’s trail figures in a screen. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Have you found a trail yet</em>?” </span>
  <span class="s1">Keiji hears someone ask. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He bites the insides of his cheeks and shakes his head. “No.” He mutters. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“<em>We will report back to you once we obtain more information on the matter.</em>” </span>
  <span class="s1">Another voice, a man’s, speaks over Keiji’s so he doesn’t have to worry about being heard. He turns to the other window, eyes never working into the screen’s curse, trying to avoid a trance like Bokuto’s. This time, he finds himself staring at a wall. </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">It’s blank, </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s1">he observes. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Much like my future.” Escapes his mind and leaks into the room. Keiji’s heart beat has suddenly sped up as if he had just finished running a marathon and he breaks out into a cold sweat. He said it out loud. He doesn’t turn around, he doesn’t want to make it obvious. </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">It’ll blow over, </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s1">he hopes. However, he should know that nothing ever blows over with Bokuto around, </span>
  <span class="s2">the perceiving owl bastard</span>
  <span class="s1">. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What’s up, Keiji?” Bokuto speaks up much to Keiji’s dismay, snapping out of his trance and turning to face him, a smile on his own face as he twirls a cigarette between mismatched fingers. “‘S over, the program?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">His speech is slightly slurred. He must be tipsy. I suppose that’s what you get for drinking and smoking the whole night. </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s1">The program is far from over, but Keiji can’t stand to watch it anymore so he nods. “Yes. Please to the honors, Bokuto-San.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Of course!” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Keiji gathers himself and slowly turns around in time to catch a glimpse of the woman who had been speaking. By the time he raises his eyes, facing the television again, the figures and the voices have all faded away in a flicker. </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>What a relief</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, Bokuto-San.” Keiji murmurs. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“‘S no problem,” Bokuto replies. “And please, we’re alone together. You are perfectly free to call me Koutarou.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Keiji swings his legs back over the armrest so that he was sitting straight, his heels planted into the carpeted flooring. “Alright then Koutarou. I will.” He replies, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyebrow arches when he hears Bokuto snort. Glancing to him, he asks, “What?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You need a light?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“A what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Bokuto chuckles and Keiji frowns. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What is it Koutarou?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Bokuto chuckles and jabs a finger at Keiji, pointing at his mouth, or rather, the cigarette hanging limply from between parted lips. “Your cig,” he points out, “it’s useless now so I was offering you a new one. And to light it for you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He reaches over to the glass coffee table in front of him, leaning over with a soft grunt; blouse buttons straining against the flexing muscles of his chiseled chest. “So, like I said,” Bokuto hands around the glass and Keiji is sure there will be marks, grabbing a cigarette box and a lighter before sitting back up and offering it to Keiji. “Need a light?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Keiji blinks. He’s smokes quiet a bit tonight. More than he usually likes to. He wants to decline Bokuto’s offer. He wants to push his hand away, but he doesn’t. Instead, Keiji nods. “Yeah, sure.” He figures. “What’s one more going to do.” Might as well take when he was being offered. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“C’mere then.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Pardon?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You gotta get closer so I can give it to you, Keiji.” The exorcist feels shivers down his spine. Whenever Bokuto says his first name, he reacts. And he doesn’t like it. “I can’t reach if you’re all the way over there.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Bokuto smiles again. Keiji shifts in his seat and places an arm on the armrest, leaning over it, his body straining to stretch more forwards as Bokuto does the same, holding out a cigarette to him. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Open.” Bokuto hums, opening his own mouth as if guiding Keiji. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Keiji rolls his eyes and opens his mouth. Bokuto gently places the cigarette into his mouth and past his lips. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Close.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Bokuto watches Keiji’s lips close around the cigarette. Sighing, he lowers the hand holding the box and raises the one with the lighter. “Careful, I don’t want to burn you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You won’t.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Nice of you to believe in me.” Bokuto jokes. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm.” Keiji hums with a nod and Bokuto lights the cigarette. “Thank you,” Keiji says and ends up blowing a face full of smoke into Bokuto’s face. Bokuto doesn’t mind. It’s something that he’s used to. They both smell of smoke more often than not. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. No problem Keiji.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">They separate: Keiji slowly falling back into his armchair and Bokuto slamming back against the cushions. They sit in silence, the sounds of cars racing to beat each other to lanes buzzing in their ears. It’s a comforting sound once you get used to it. Bokuto finds that it helps him more often than not in moments like these when he’s at a loss for what to say. </span>
  <span class="s2">It only happens with Keiji.</span>
  <span class="s1"> He turns back to the television as if searching for the forgives when he remembers that he had turned it off upon Keiji’s request. He takes a long swig of his cigarette and wonders how many Keiji has gone through. He decides to ask. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Keiji?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Facing the windows again, Keiji nods but otherwise makes no other attempt to show that he acknowledged Bokuto. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Bokuto goes on anyway. “How many cigarettes have you had?” He folds places his glass down beside him and folds his hands in his lap waiting for Keiji’s answer. As he expects, it’s short and simple. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“About four, excluding this one. I’m on my fifth.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Fifth</span>
    <span class="s1">? </span>
    <span class="s2">Are you stress smoking or something? </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s1">Bokuto wants to ask, but he swallows it back. “Wow,” he says instead, “three more than usual, huh?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Wow, you can count?” Bokuto makes an offended noise as Keiji snorts. “Yes.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">They laugh together for a moment before Bokuto asks, “Do you feel different?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Keiji turns around. “Different?” He echoes. Bokuto can hear the disbelief in his soft voice. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Not particularly, Koutarou.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” Bokuto should have known. Keiji rarely feels anything at all. Even when stabbing someone through the chest, Bokuto has never seen an ounce of emotion in the man’s eyes. He leans his head back,neck straining and cigarette falling deeper into his mouth, burning his tongue, scorching his throat and setting his lungs on fire. He grimaces. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Are you alright, Bokuto-San?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">There he goes. Back to the same old. </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s1">Bokuto coughs and nods, waving a hand at Keiji. “‘M fine,” he says, “like I said, it’s Koutarou.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry.. Koutarou.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“There you go!” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Keiji shakes his head and turns away. Bokuto remains staring at the ceiling. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Keiji,” he says for what seemed to be the thousandth time.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yes?” Keiji answers like always, emotionless and tired. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“How do you do it?” Bokuto sighs, voice cracking as he nearly swallows his cigarette. “How Keiji.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“How do I do what?” Keiji whispers. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Bokuto genuinely doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why someone would need to lead the life that Keiji does, would be forced to take such a position, would keep such a style. “How do you live like this?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He is met with a cold silence before Keiji slowly turns around to face him. Bokuto’s eyes widen when he meets Keiji’s. The dark orbs are now pitch black, not the beautiful navy blue that they usually are. Keiji’s lips are pursed, cigarette held in hand. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“How do I live like this, you ask?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Bokuto nods. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Well, let me ask you this, Bokuto-San.” Keiji hisses, crushing the flaming cigarette in his fist; Bokuto gasping as if he had been burnt and not his partner. “Do I have a choice?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Bokuto can’t form an answer in his mind, but they both know it anyway. Keiji huffs and uncurles his fingers, glaring at his burnt palm, the raw skin already peeling. Bokuto sighs and tries to suffocate himself on the smoke. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry for overstepping my boundaries, Keiji.” He mumbles. Bokuto hates feeling like he is at fault and leaving something unfinished. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“It’s alright, Bokuto-San.” Keiji says, but Bokuto can tell it isn’t. He decides not to press the matter and they fall back into a silence. It isn’t their usual comfortable silence.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Bokuto watches Keiji snatch another cigarette, light it and place it to his lips before taking a breath, counting </span>
  <span class="s2">six. </span>
  <span class="s1">The silence is suffocating and tense, each inhaling more and more smoke as they wallow in the darkness. He realizes that Keiji returned to calling him “Bokuto-San”.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
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